Part 77 (1/2)
Why not indulge the old man while I waited for the others? He seemed pleasant enough, although I had seen nothing that attracted me on the tray, except perhaps that little ivory carving- Strange. The goods looked different. A pearl, discolored; a chipped blue and white cup; a carved bamboo flute the worse for wear; an old inkpot-surely those had not been there before? Ah, there was something I recognized: the little ivory figure. I couldn't quite make out what it was meant to represent.
The old man said something, and as I looked up he nodded, wreathed in smiles.
I smiled back and squatted down in front of the tray.
Now the tray was full, and every object, cracked, chipped, dented, worn or just old, all were carved or decorated with representations of living things.
The blue brush jar had a lively dragon wrapped around its base, the bra.s.s bowl had raised figures of mice chasing each other's tails; inside the amber, carved as a fish's mouth, a tiny fly awaited its fate. Embroidery covered with lotus blossoms, a paperweight with a gra.s.shopper for a handle, a carved bee on the side of the flute looking alive enough to fly away, a pearl etched with chrysanthemums, a blue and white cup painted with b.u.t.terflies, and an inkpot decorated with a flock of small birds: broken they all might be, but these objects had an exquisite living grace. And around them all, lively as a kitten, cavorted the ivory carving.
Some part of me, the sensible part, told me there was something very amiss here. Half a dozen pieces, less than interesting, then others, and now both lots together, and all worth a second look. But the sensible side of Summer stayed quiet and the credulous Summer just accepted what she saw.
Or thought she saw . . .
The old man stretched out his right hand and took mine; in his left he held a green bowl of water that danced its reflections in the lamplight as the ring on my finger tingled, but not unpleasantly. He nodded at me again, indicating that I should look into the liquid. I leaned forward and found myself gazing into a swirl of colors. Figures pa.s.sed through the water; I saw a white horse with a horn on its forehead, a frog or toad, a cat, a black bird, a fish. . . . Then something I thought I recognized: another horse galloping across the sands, a scrabbling tortoise, a pink pigeon, a small elongated dog with short legs, a pig . . . Ah, the pig!
A pig with wings. A pig I had kissed three times. A pig that turned into a dragon.
And the girl in the picture kissed the pig-that-was-a-dark-dragon for the third time, and he turned into a man. A dark man called Jasper, Master of Many Treasures, and my heart broke as he turned back into a dragon again and flew away from the Place of Stones- Leaping to my feet, I dashed the bowl from the old man's hands. I could feel the stupid tears welling up.
”How could you know? d.i.c.kon?” I called over my shoulder. ”Come and translate for me, please. I want to ask this old man a couple of questions.”
He, too, had risen to his feet, although he still had hold of my hand. He was speaking again, but thanks to d.i.c.kon who must have been standing behind me, I now had a translation.
”I mean no harm, young traveller.”
”The pictures in the bowl . . .” I stopped. I didn't want d.i.c.kon to know what I had seen.
”Before you there was another who wore a ring,” said the old man, and now the translation was almost simultaneous. ”Many, many years ago. She, too, adventured with animals she was wise enough to call her friends. The rest you saw was what you wanted to see.”
”No! I never wanted . . .”
”Then the head denies the heart it would seem. You travel far, girl, to find what you do not want, then?” There was a gentle, teasing quality in his voice, which I now seemed to hear clearer than d.i.c.kon's. ”It will be a long journey for the seven of you. . . .”
”Seven? Three, you mean.” Me, Tug and Growch.
”Three is a lucky number, I agree, but seven is better. She who first wore the ring knew that.”
”It's just three,” I repeated firmly.
”Life does not always turn out the way you want it. I think you will need help with your journey, extra help.”
”You-know where we are bound?”
”I know everything.” He picked up the bowl again, and miraculously it was still full of colored water. ”Look again. Closer . . .”
Forgetting d.i.c.kon, I gazed once more into the bowl. The colors paled, faded, and now there was just a milky haze. The haze steadied, snow was falling and I was in it, flying like a bird between high mountain peaks. But the snow started to drag at my wings, at the same time destroying my perspective of the land beneath, the familiar landscape I should know so well. Mountain after mountain, peak after peak, they all looked alike. The snow grew heavier and now I was weary, blinking away the flakes of snow that threatened to blind me. Each beat of my wings seemed to wrench them from their sockets; if I couldn't find what I was looking for soon I should have to land, but it was unlikely I would find shelter in unknown terrain.
Then, suddenly, I saw it.
A momentary lessening in the blur of snow, and the three fangs of the Mighty One, gateway to my goal, loomed up ahead. A turn to the left and I steered between the first two of the three rock teeth that were so steep that even now they gloomed blackly in the snow that could not rest against their sides.
Over at last and down, down, down into the valley beyond. There was the monastery on its hill, where the saffron-robed monks rang their gongs, sounded their queer, cracked bells and said their prayers to an endlessly smiling, fat G.o.d. Finally a switch to the right, away from the Hill of Constant Prayer and the village beneath, and a long slow glide to the Blue Mountain and the cave entrance hidden on the northern face.
Wearily I braked back, my leathern wings as clumsy as the landing gear of a youngling. Wobbling a little, I shoved forward my dragon claws and- ”Jasper!” I cried out, and smashed the green bowl into a thousand pieces.
”Jasper! I was him!”
The old man stooped down and picked up one of the tiny shards of gla.s.s. One piece? No, for now all the others seemed to fly into his hand and the bowl was whole again. He tucked it away in his robe.
”And so you now know the way to go,” he said. ”It is always the last part of the journey that is the hardest.”
My mind was in such turmoil that I could think of nothing to say-except thank him.
He bowed. ”It is nothing; a breath of wind across a sleeping face, bringing with it a dream of the poppies over which it has travelled. . . . And now, young traveller, you were thinking of bearing something away from my tray.”
I was? Yes, perhaps I was. That must be why I was bending over the tray again, and now all the creatures and flowers were real, alive. A b.u.t.terfly perched on my finger, then flew to the old man's beard; a tiny fly cleaned its wings of the amber that had imprisoned it; a fish swam in the bra.s.s bowl that the old man tucked away in his robe; a string of mice disappeared up his sleeve; a tiny blue dragon flew to his shoulder then vanished down his collar; a gra.s.shopper leapt to his head, a flock of tiny birds circled the stall and a bee, heavy with pollen, rested for a moment on my sleeve, before crawling up a fold of the old man's robe, whose lap now held a ma.s.s of flowers. . . .
Now all that was left on the tray was the little ivory figure. It was still difficult to make out exactly what it was meant to represent-he looked like a mixture of dog, horse, dragon, deer-but he did have a very intelligent expression.
”How much?”
”He is not for sale. He goes where he wishes.” He spoke as though the creature had a will of its own, but then nothing would have surprised me now.
”May I pick him up?”
”If he will let you . . .”
What did he do then? Bite? Disappear in a puff of smoke?
Gingerly I bent forward, picked him up between finger and thumb and put him on my palm. Exquisitely carved, he had the body of a deer, hooves of a horse, a water buffalo's tail with a huge plume on the end, a stubby little face with a minihorn in his forehead and what looked like fine filaments or antennae sweeping back from his mouth. Funny that I hadn't been able to see him clearly before, especially as he was the only perfect piece. He sat quite comfortably on my hand.
”What is it-he?”
”That is for him to tell you. If he wishes.”
I waited for something to happen, but nothing did, so with a strange reluctance I put him back on the tray. My ring was warm on my finger.
”Are you coming? The young la.s.s over there says her dad has an eating house round the corner.” d.i.c.kon spoke over my shoulder. ”I'm hungry even if you're not.”
All the lights were suddenly brighter, and I could smell sewers.
He nudged my arm impatiently. ”You've been staring at that tray for hours.
Looks like a lot of junk to me.”
I looked down. An old man squatted in front of a tray of secondhand objects, none of which I had seen before. The ivory figure I thought I remembered seeing wasn't there.